


The Short Double-Life Of Ignis Scientia

by ohmyfae



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Bad Influence Prompto, Clubbing, First Kisses, M/M, passing reference to drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-08 08:32:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13454433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmyfae/pseuds/ohmyfae
Summary: Ignis Scientia has promised Noct that he'll go out and meet his new friend, Prompto Argentum. Just for an afternoon, of course, to make sure that the strange, disconcertingly cheerful teenager is truly everything he seems to be.Eight hours later, Ignis is sitting in Clarus Amicitia's office, covered in glitter and body paint. How the hell did it end up like this?A series of short chapters documenting the most exciting night of poor Ignis' life, written for Promnis Week!





	1. Chapter 1

"Ignis Scientia."

Clarus Amicitia looked down at the seventeen year-old picture of misery perched on the edge of his office chair, and struggled to maintain a grim expression. Ignis' bangs were spiked at an unnatural angle, doused in glitter, and... Yes. Yes, they _were_ frosted at the tips. Bright green and purple body glitter streaked his right jaw and smudged his shirt, which was considerably wrinkled and half hanging from his belt. His hand was stamped with a purple behemoth, and one of his shoes was unlaced, slipping off his jiggling heel.

"Tell me again," Clarus said, "exactly what you were doing tonight."

Ignis opened his eyes wide, and Clarus knew, with the certainty of a father of two, that the next words out of his mouth would be a lie.

 

\---

 

It began with a promise.

"I swear, Iggy, he's not that bad," Noctis said for the fifth time that week, dropping his pen on the latest reports from the Citadel. He'd agreed to go over them that afternoon in a rare burst of enthusiasm, which Ignis quickly realized was only a poorly-concealed bribe.

"I see no reason why I should have coffee with your new friend," Ignis said, flipping round a page for Noct to inspect. "You know that I trust your judgment."

"Bullshit," Noctis said. "You've been freaking out ever since you saw him drop me off at the arcade."

"On a bicycle," Ignis said. "Held together by bumper stickers, I believe."

"You see?" Noct said, leaning over his reports. He shoved Ignis in the shoulder, eliciting a disgruntled huff. "You're worried. I can tell. Look, he's a great guy, Iggy. Have coffee with him just once, and I promise, you'll see what I mean."

And so Ignis found himself standing outside the Blue Chocobo Cafe, phone humming in his back pocket, clutching a latte to his chest like a shield. He'd come early just in case, but was starting to wonder at the use of this whole exercise. Of course Prompto Argentum, Noctis' new friend from school, looked a little... rough around the edges. But he wasn't a _criminal._ There was no reason for any of this, really.

"Hey!"

Ignis leaned to the side just in time to see a line of pedestrians go leaping off the sidewalk, cursing darkly in the wake of Prompto Argentum, wobbling on his rusty bike with one hand in the air.

"Ignis!"

Ignis stepped out of the way as Prompto skidded to a halt, beaming under the collective glares of half the street. He ran a hand through his messy blond hair and looked at Ignis expectantly.

"Ah." Ignis' fingers curled on his cup. "Prompto, I presume."

"Man, you _do_ talk like a textbook," Prompto said, and extended a hand. It was covered in a tattoo of riotous vines crawling up a brick wall, ending with a window with irregular bars and neat, blocky letters and numbers. His fingers dripped with rings, all shaped like birds or dragons, and he had a number of silver earrings to match. 

"Thanks for meeting with me," Prompto said, shaking Ignis' hand in both his own. "You got coffee? That's great! It'll keep you up for the main event."

"The main..." Ignis swallowed. "Pardon?"

Prompto's face fell for a fraction of a second before he rallied, flashing his perfect teeth. Ignis, who still had to wear his dreaded, gods-curst retainer, pushed down a rising bubble of envy.

"Yeah," Prompto said. "I mean, Noct said you wanted the _full Prompto Argentum experience._ "

"Did he."

"Th-that's right," Prompto said. Apparently deciding that the concept of personal space did not exist on the sidewalks of Insomnia, Prompto swung an arm around Ignis' shoulders.

"Just you wait and see, Specs," he said, tapping Ignis' glasses, "You and me? We’re gonna go out and _live_ a little."


	2. Chapter 2

"Okay," Prompto shouted. "Coast is clear!"

Ignis stood on the roof of the East Insomnia 246B warehouse, the toes of his formal shoes scuffing the concrete. Below him, camera bag swinging from his neck, Prompto Argentum was clinging to a rusted balcony with all the grace of a scrawny, bumbling panda cub, grinning. His foot slipped on the balcony railing, and Ignis grit his teeth, certain he was about to witness the death of Noct's newest friend first-hand.

"Come on, Specs!" Prompto shouted. 

Ignis crouched down, holding the edge of the roof for dear life. "I thought you wanted to take a photo of the skyline!" he called.

Prompto laughed. It was an infectious laugh, Ignis had to admit, trailing off with a self-conscious chuckle. "You can get shots like that anywhere. This is special. Promise."

Ignis' knuckles whitened, and he looked back to the plywood bridge they'd crossed between the Chocochick hotel and the warehouse. "And there... aren't any first floor entrances?"

"None we'll have an excuse to use, dude," Prompto said, and stood, bracing himself precariously on the tilting balcony. Ignis was three rungs down the fire escape before he realized, with the horror of a man swimming into the arms of a siren, exactly what he was doing.

It was supposed to just be coffee. That's all Ignis had been prepared to bear. But then Prompto had smiled and shucked Ignis' shoulder, with that seemingly effortless air of his, and Ignis was climbing... climbing onto the back of his bike...

"Gods," Ignis said. "I'm the advisor to the _prince._ I can't be climbing fire escapes on my day off."

"Uh, sure thing, buddy," Prompto said. "But maybe have that identity crisis when you _aren't_ six stories up."

"Six..." Ignis glanced down, and his glasses went sliding off his nose, disappearing with a clatter into an open dumpster below.

"Ohhhh," Prompto said, leaning over the rail in a blur of plaid and leather. "Yikes."

 

\---

 

It took fifteen minutes for Prompto, urging and cajoling and murmuring assurances that Ignis was _definitely safe, probably,_ to get Ignis down to the balcony. When he got to his feet at last, panting with terror, Prompto raised both hands in the air and whooped.

Ignis blinked at him, a little blearily. "Pardon."

"Dude." Prompto's hands blurred, like he was wiggling his fingers. "High five. Don't leave me hanging."

Ignis tentatively raised a hand, and Prompto slapped it hard enough to sting.

"You're alive!" he shouted.

"Yes," Ignis said. "But--"

"No, dude, you gotta say it louder. _You're alive!_ " He leapt, and so did the balcony. Ignis lunged for the railing.

"I'm alive," he said, hoping if he said it firmly enough, he could remain so.

"You _owned_ that climb!" Prompto jumped again. His camera bag rose a second too late, and he grabbed it before it could fall. Ignis risked a smile, and saw a vague hint of a broad, perfect grin.

"And now you're gonna own the club!" Prompto crowed. Ignis' smile froze.

"The. The what."

Prompto once again draped himself over Ignis' shoulder, twisting him round to the window. Inside the warehouse, lights were flickering in the darkness like New Years fireworks, strobing across wires and scaffolding in an erratic rhythm. Ignis leaned close, and without the roaring of terror in his ears, could barely detect the thrum of bass.

"The Behemoth," Prompto said. "The baddest gay bar this side of Insomnia, dude."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm basing a lot of this on my own high school years, admittedly. I also snuck into gay bars and clubs as a teen, and spent quite a few mornings before school trying to scrub off stamps from the back of my hand.

In retrospect, Ignis knew, he probably should have put his foot down back on the roof.

He probably should have put his foot down at _all,_ in fact. But the part of him that was still frantically tugging at the back of his mind, insisting that he had _work_ in the morning and duties to see to and clothes to press, was quickly being drowned out by light and chatter and the relentless thud of the bass. His world narrowed to the back of Prompto's head, to the hand around Ignis' wrist as he was dragged through a crowd and led to a bar, where a short woman with bleached blonde hair looked up from a conversation with a woman with her legs draped on either side of a pole in the counter.

"Hey, baby," the bartender said, when Prompto pushed up against the bar. "You keeping out of trouble?"

"Hell no!" Prompto said. Ignis was jerked forward, stumbling the last few steps. The woman by the pole gave him a bored once-over, then fished a phone out of her bra. "This is, uh. A friend. We forgot to get stamped on the way in."

"Sure you did," the bartender said. She pulled out a stamp and a pad from under the bar. "Gimme your hands."

Ignis opened his mouth to protest, but she quickly stamped the back of his hand before he could pull away, imprinting a purple image of a behemoth there.

"Don't ask for a drink, and I won't kick you out," she said. Prompto jumped up on his toes, and she laughed. "Go on, baby. Good to see you're bringin' someone with you this time."

"Oh my gods," said the woman on the bar, looking up at a crowd of people walking through the front door. "Straight guys incoming." She groaned and lay back on the counter, phone splayed loose in her palm. "Daisy. I can't dance, I'm calling in gay."

The bartender laughed, and Prompto turned to Ignis with the broad grin of a puppy, still holding his hand. "Come on," he said. "Let's dance."

Ignis tried to muster his last, straggling remnants of resolve. "You don't bring Noct here, do you?"

Prompto blinked. "What? No. Dude, he's the prince. He's not allowed to dance. Or breathe. Or anything. We just play video games and shit."

"Then why are _we--_ " Ignis started, but Prompto was leading him onto the dance floor, right between a group of young women and a pair of men with their arms around each other, oblivious to the beat of the music. Prompto wasn't exactly dancing. More like, well. He was _moving,_ that much Ignis knew, but it wasn't anything covered in Ignis or Noct's years of formal dance lessons. It was more of an awkward, jerky undulation, and Prompto grabbed Ignis' other hand, smiling encouragingly.

"Move, Specs," he shouted, over the music. "No one cares!"

Ignis closed his eyes and let himself be shifted by Prompto's hands, which burned strangely hot against his. Heat rose to his cheeks, but Prompto was still smiling, nodding along and bobbing on his feet. 

"Yeah!" he said. "Yeah, you got it! You're doing great!"

And that, right there, was it. Prompto had the sort of boundless enthusiasm that made Ignis _want_ to prove him right. He could have talked a criminal into turning himself in and enrolling in volunteer classes, if he wanted to. When Prompto believed in you, he believed with every fiber of his being. It was nearly impossible to let him down. 

Ignis smiled. His braces caught on his lips, and Prompto reeled him in closer, moving his arms in an exaggerated back and forth wobble. Prompto's freckles shifted when he laughed, and his eyes narrowed, lines creasing his brow and mouth.

So they danced. They danced until the group of women beside them enclosed them, laughing and shouting and calling Ignis "baby," limbs tangled up in each other while Ignis and Prompto wove through the middle of them. Two women invited them to eat at the bar, and Ignis found himself talking louder than he'd ever allowed himself before, caught up in the chaos of the night.

"No one does this where I'm from!" he shouted, as Prompto pushed a tray of chips his way. He took one, and one of the women gave him a curious look. "This! We have, oh, sort of, unofficial rules about it!"

"About dancing?" Prompto asked. Ignis rolled his eyes.

"No, being Queer," he shouted back, and the women sitting with them raised their brows. "You don't talk about it! It isn't illegal, but no one--I mean. You don't just!"

He wasn't sure how to explain it. Certainly no one had ever told him to _hide_. But the Citadel was the center of Lucis, and Ignis was Noct's advisor and closest friend, and, well. There were the tabloids to think about, and endless protocols, and etiquette lessons and rules about fraternization and the unspoken suggestion that while Gladio could flirt with half the trainees in the Crownsguard, he hadn't yet been called up before Clarus because he'd flirted with the _acceptable_ half. So Ignis was... quiet. He was polite. He never put a toe out of line, and even Noct joked that he probably skipped puberty altogether.

And he thought, until now, that he'd been _fine_ with that.

"It'd be nice," he shouted, when no one spoke, "to be able to be close to people like you are."

One of the women sat up, her arm slipping from her girlfriend's shoulders, brows knit in what looked worryingly like concern. Ignis wondered if perhaps he'd gone too far.

A hand lay on his back, and Ignis twisted round. Prompto winked. He was wearing eyeliner, Ignis noticed, winged at the edges and rather sloppily applied. "Wanna dance again?" he asked.

"Gods, yes," Ignis said, and Prompto led him out to the dance floor again, fingers laced in his, the tattoo on his wrist flickering and shifting with the lights of the club.


	4. Chapter 4

“You do this _every_ night?”

Prompto sat on the long bathroom table of the Behemoth bar, one foot in a sink, hands teasing through Ignis’ hair. His plastic gloves, plucked from a box at a free testing booth in the back of the club, felt strangely alien as Prompto applied bleach to the edges of Ignis’ fringe. Ignis leaned against the table, a shoulder pressed to Prompto’s chest, and closed his eyes to the touch.

“Not lately,” Prompto said. “I’m over at Noct’s a lot, or I have work, so it kind of gets in the way.”

Ignis sighed. The door opened, revealing a large man with leather straps criss-crossing his bare chest, who rolled his eyes at the both of them and went straight for the urinal. “Prompto?”

“Mm.” Prompto peeled off the gloves and twisted Ignis’ face side to side, examining his hair in the mirror. Ignis’ face felt unnaturally warm. 

“When did _you_ … ah. When did you find this bar?”

“You mean when did I realize I was bi,” Prompto said. “I dunno. I saw this movie with Zach Faire in it—“

“Zach Faire is everyone’s gay awakening,” said the man at the urinal.

“Right,” Prompto said. “Thanks for that. But anyways, I mean... Maybe thirteen? What about you?”

Ignis tapped his hands on the bathroom sink, and scooted to the side as the man in the straps used the only available tap. “I can’t say. I was fifteen when I told my parents.”

“Yeah? How’d that go?”

“My uncle was very supportive,” Ignis said, which seemed to be the only thing he _could_ say, without going into a long, in-depth retelling of his life since the age of four. 

“Ouch,” Prompto said, and rubbed Ignis’ shoulders. Ignis sank into it, closing his eyes briefly as Prompto kneaded the tense muscle of his back and neck. “My parents thought it meant I was poly. _That_ was a weird conversation. But we gotta let this sit for thirty minutes, so we should split.”

“Thirty minutes?” Ignis said, a little dismayed. He wasn’t certain he could go back onto the dance floor smelling like bleach. Prompto hopped down from the sink and patted his shoulders.

“Don’t worry, Igster,” he said. Ignis narrowed his eyes. “Specs? Iggy? Iggy, then. Don’t sweat it, okay? I know this place, they have the best raves north of the market district. And I’m pretty sure tonight?” He winked. “Body paint night.”

\---

“Oh gods,” Prompto said, pressing his back to a crumbling, moss-worn wall at the edge of town. “Oh gods.”

“Prompto.” Ignis knelt in front of him, boxed in by his skinny legs, hands on his shoulders. Prompto was covered in body paint, but the skin beneath was ash-grey with panic. “We’ll be fine.”

Behind them, lights flashed blue against warehouse fences. Prompto covered his face with both hands.

“I’m gonna get my best friend’s advisor arrested,” Prompto wailed. “I swear, Iggy, I didn’t know they were selling drugs.”

“Or in such quantities, I’m sure,” Ignis said. It was an honest mistake, truly. Ignis had bumped a little too hard into Prompto at the rave, and Prompto had gone careening into a blue tarp at the back of the dance floor, which had fallen away to reveal… well. Ignis didn’t know anyone could _make_ so much of _that_ particular substance without potentially blowing up half the city. 

“I just wanted you to have fun,” Prompto said, in a small voice. He looked so wan, his makeup smeared beneath his fingers, and Ignis smiled despite the blare of police sirens in the distance. 

“This _has_ been fun,” Ignis said. He gently pried Prompto’s hands from his face. “All evidence to the contrary.”

Prompto took a shaky breath. He really was rather gangly. So uneven, all elbows and knees, mascara smudged all over one cheek, hair drooping from its styled spikes. But kind, too, and conscientious, with a recklessness reserved for excitable puppies and immortal teenagers everywhere. 

Sometimes, when Ignis lay in bed, he dreamed of being that sort of teenager himself.

“Tonight was wonderful,” Ignis said, under the sound of barking dogs. A gunshot cracked through the air, and they both flinched, crouching closer together. “Thank you.”

Prompto licked his lips. His nose was close enough to bump Ignis’ cheek, and Ignis could see every freckle, every blemish and acne scar. “Would it be. Would it be stupid if I said I’ve kind of. Kind of wanted to kiss you since I first saw you?”

“You have?” Ignis fell back on his heels, and Prompto sat up, following him as though drawn by an invisible line. “I can’t imagine why.”

“I can make a list, if you want,” Prompto said. “I bet you probably like those.” For a second, his face flashed blue, then red. Another gunshot rang out. The glitter on his neck and chest sparkled in the light.

“Or you can kiss me,” Ignis said, and Prompto did, lurching forward with a clack of teeth and a scrape of braces. They struggled to right themselves, falling sideways onto the wall as teeth tugged at embarrassingly wet lips, as they gasped for breath and let their hands wander uselessly. It was the first kiss Ignis had experienced in his life, and quite possibly the best. He deepened it, squashing Prompto’s nose in the process, and—

“Boys. Really?”

They leapt apart, chests heaving, and Ignis looked up into the bright glare of a flashlight. 

“Oh,” he said, in a hoarse voice. “Hello, officer.”


	5. Chapter 5

"And that," Ignis said, swallowing heavily, "is what happened."

Clarus kept his hands clasped on his desk, not trusting himself to move without breaking the grim, somber look he'd spent eighteen years of fatherhood perfecting. "Let me get this straight, Ignis," he said. Ignis shifted in his seat, spilling glitter onto the floor. "You went to this... Prompto's book group."

"Yes, sir."

"Which just happened to have bleach on hand for your hair."

"...yes, sir."

"And you..." Clarus looked down at his notes, which said, _Dear gods_. "Tripped over a street artist outside."

"Yes," Ignis said. "Thus the--" he waved his hand at his glitter-painted body.

"Mm." Clarus looked him in the eye. Ignis gazed rather blearily back. "And because you couldn't see, you ended up stumbling into the middle of a drug bust."

"Yes, sir."

There was a long, terrible silence. Clarus let it stretch enough for Ignis to start fidgeting, and sighed. "Well, you and the Argentum boy's stories do match."

Ignis' eyes narrowed. "Sir?"

"Indeed. Almost word for word." It was a lie, of course. Prompto Argentum had taken one look at Clarus and folded like a cheap deck of cards, but Clarus supposed that so long as Ignis didn't make a habit of it, it wouldn't hurt for the poor boy to have _some_ fun. Safe, legal fun, within the Citadel district.

Still, he did have a duty to uphold.

"How about," he said, again with agonizing slowness, "the next time you go to one of Prompto's book clubs... You hold it in a library. Or at home. Where you'll be for the next three months, as you are under restriction to the Citadel grounds until the thirtieth of June."

Ignis' entire body slumped with his sigh of relief. "Thank you, sir. Understood."

"You may go," Clarus said. Ignis practically levitated out of his chair, striding for the door. "And Ignis?"

Ignis paused, one hand on the door handle, face twisted in anxious dread. Clarus risked a smile.

"Not what I expected in a first boyfriend," Clarus said, smiling wider at the slack look of shock, "but he seems nice enough. Well done."

"Th-than--I--that is--"

"Go on," Clarus said. 

The door slammed shut, followed by the rapid clack of Ignis fleeing down the hallway. Only when Ignis was out of hearing did Clarus break, covering his face with both hands, shoulders heaving with helpless laughter.

"Gods," he said, dashing tears from his eyes. "If this is any indication, I can only pray his second date doesn't burn down half the city."


End file.
